


Putting Wings on Lead

by Fudgyokra



Series: Kinktober 2019 [5]
Category: Green Arrow (Comics)
Genre: Anal Sex, Angry Sex, Derogatory Language, Humiliation kink, Implied/Referenced Drug Addiction, M/M, Prostitution, Public Sex, Punishment, Unhealthy Relationships, takes place mid-Snowbirds
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-10
Updated: 2019-10-10
Packaged: 2020-11-28 07:24:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,239
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20962721
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fudgyokra/pseuds/Fudgyokra
Summary: He had been in nicer alleyways, that was for sure.





	Putting Wings on Lead

**Author's Note:**

> I like to call this one "what might have happened if Hal hadn't taken Roy to Dinah during Snowbirds Don't Fly, but in the porniest way possible." ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ I'm putting it under the Green Arrow category even though Snowbirds was technically a Green Lantern comic because this is really just about Ollie and Roy.
> 
> Title from Fall Out Boy's "West Coast Smoker."
> 
> Day 8: Blood/Gore | Prostitution/Sex Work* | Fisting | Hate-fucking/Angry Sex*

He had been in nicer alleyways, that was for sure. The one he was in now reeked of cheap tobacco and weed, which was a step up from excrement only because he’d traipsed through enough sewers to last a lifetime and then some. Cigarillos, cloyingly sweet, mixing with the earthy, damp smell of joints didn’t help his nausea any.

Roy really, really should not be doing this. Each time he began to talk himself out of it, he envisioned how good it would feel to earn another hit of the stuff he reallywanted—the kind of thing that didn’t exist in alleys like this one. No, the real deal was back in Chinatown, full of neon lights and steam from busted pipes, and home to the best kind of bad thing Roy had ever laid eyes on since he’d met Oliver.

His rage over what had happened between them still sat like a rock in the pit of his stomach, but before he could fix things, he desperately needed a fix for himself first. It was what he kept telling himself, anyway, to justify why he was about to take cash from strangers whose cars he’d be climbing into. “Johns,” the other kids on the street had dutifully informed him. He _knew _what a john was. He knew because he had busted dozens of them on this exact strip from behind a mask.

Well, he reasoned, this was just another kind of mask.

For the first time that night, a hand slithered out of a rolled-down car window and gestured for him.

Roy tugged down on his shorts and walked over, examining the car as he went. It didn’t look like a cop cruiser, but he wasn’t in the clear quite yet.

Nausea continued rolling through him while he chatted with the prospective john, using nondescript wording with an easy-going attitude, just like he’d seen all the ladies do back in Chinatown. His nervousness had less to do with the idea of having anonymous sex (with which he had some experience) but everything to do with Ollie’s disappointment (with which he only had the one stinging experience.) God forbid he find out about this, then Roy was probably doomed to the streets forever, if he wasn’t already.

“How old are you?” the man behind the window asked.

“Eighteen,” Roy said. True, but barely.

“You don’t have to act like it, if you catch my drift.” Oh, good, Roy thought, one of _those _johns. Pleasantly enough, he smiled, leaning in with his hands white-knuckling the window. He hoped the man didn’t notice.

He made his voice a little more breathy, the way he’d been taught: “Is that so?” Even if he hadn’t actually made his first transaction yet, the others assured him he would do fine. He was cute, they said. Boyish.

“You look way too clean to be doing this kind of thing,” the man told him. Yep, he had gotten that from the others, too. He knew from all those conversations that this guy didn’t mean he looked dirty, just that he looked innocent. Ha.

“I’ve never done this before, sir.” He batted his lashes, playing bashful and hoping the man assumed he meant _never had sex_ over _never prostituted myself for drugs_ so that he could perhaps walk away with more pride. The guy made a surprised sound as if Roy had succeeded in selling the virgin bit, so he took his opportunity and stuck his head in through the window, lowering his voice to a whisper. “You look like you might take it easy on a fella like me…” Phrased almost like a question. A suggestion, if anything, able to be agreed or disagreed with.

This guy decided he was going to disagree. “Oh, I don’t think I will, honey. Hop in and I’ll show you—”

Roy tuned out the chatter that came after. _Show you a real man. Show you what it’s supposed to feel like. Show you what you’re missin’, sweet-cheeks._ He got the gist.

As smoothly as he could, he rounded the vehicle and let himself in through the passenger door. The guy in the driver’s seat was relatively handsome, which was by sheer good luck, and had a nice little goatee on top of that, which was sheer badluck. He indulged himself by pretending it was blond and gave it a coy tug as he leaned in, feeling the heat of the stranger as he got a hand around the back of Roy’s neck.

Tease for free, he thought as he met him halfway for a kiss, doing his best to sound and act like he was completely out of his depth. When the man reached straight for Roy’s cock, barely confined in those stupidly tight shorts, his own hand shot out and caught him without even blinking. Tease, he remembered, but get the full payment up front before any funny business. Always in cash.

He was doing a pretty good job of recalling all the advice he’d gotten, if he did say so himself, but apparently his luck had run out. The head of an arrow stuck right through the top of the car and hooked with a zipping sound so familiar his ears rang with it well after it’d happened.

The man cawed out an expletive, followed by the exact question Roy expected: “Is that an _arrow?_ Through my car!” For all intents and purposes, his voice was a shriek. Roy might have laughed if he weren’t busy having an out-of-body experience in the passenger seat right beside him. He knew what came next, and there was no avoiding that train wreck. Ollie had already bought that he was undercover once, before the truth about the heroin had come out of his own idiotic mouth. He was not going to buy that Roy was trying to bust a sex ring solo.

A gloved hand popped the door open and dragged the man clean out of his seat. “Looks like you should’ve worn a seatb—” The jest fell short of complete when Ollie spotted Roy, sitting there with his knees on the seat and a tired expression that couldn’t even begin to fake being shocked.

Ollie’s mouth curled in a nasty frown. Abruptly, he slammed the guy against the side of the vehicle, mumbling something to him Roy couldn’t hear as he clambered his way out to the sidewalk again. A glance over his shoulder confirmed his suspicions that the rest of the workers had fled the moment a metal-puncturing arrow came flying. The heavy thwacking noise of fist on flesh turned his gaze back to the car, which Ollie rounded seconds later.

He approached until he and Roy were toe-to-toe, and Roy found himself looking up at him, faces too close, when he didn’t take the bait and cower back like he knew Ollie expected him to.

“Are you trying to get yourself killed?” He sounded pissed. Looked it, too.

Roy rolled his eyes, anyway. “By having sex? Not likely, G.A.”

“By doing whatever it is you’re doing to…” Frustrated, he lifted his hands in a gesture of surrender, clearly only to his own thoughts, as Roy was granted no reprieve. “I got rid of you so you’d learn some damn sense, boy, not so you could go fishin’ for more of that _junk._”

There was a joke about junk resting on the tip of Roy’s tongue. He thought better of it. “You’re right about one thing: You got rid of me. So how ‘bout you take your high-and-mighty attitude somewhere else and leave me alone.”

Irritated and now profoundly itchy, Roy tried to shove past him and leave the block, only to be stopped by a large hand wrapping around his upper arm. And then another on his other arm, effectively picking him up and slamming him against the brick wall behind him, dangling two healthy inches above the ground.

Instead of kicking like he would have in a better mindset, all he could do was hold the man’s glare and ignore the insistent humming in his veins at the showmanship. “What’s your problem?” he spat, annoyingly flushed. He blamed it on the scene in the car.

“You’re really out here turning tricks?”

Roy snorted at the old-fashioned lingo. “What if I am?” His eyes narrowed as he recalled their last fight. How Ollie had struck him, and how Roy had only asked for him to do it again. He’d never seen his mentor so angry before, at least not at him,but something about it was admittedly thrilling, as though the seeds of teenage rebellion were sewn in him just a tad late. He had always been such a good boy. He was _sick _of it. “Gonna teach me a lesson this time too, old man? I might have to charge you for it.”

Undoubtedly, Ollie’s eyes were aflame behind the mask. Roy expected to be dropped back to his feet, but he didn’t expect what followed, which was an awfully handsy relocation of his comparatively short form to the stranger’s car. Like a bizarre fever dream coming true, Ollie pushed him down on the hood, bent over with his hands wrenched behind his back as if he were a common criminal.

“Is that what it’s gonna take to get you on the straight-and-narrow?” Ollie asked, voice hovering on a joking tone but landing, ultimately, in the same anger with which it began. The juxtaposition and the way he growled made something in Roy’s stomach turn pleasantly.

“I don’t think you got the guts.”

With one hand pressed to his back, Ollie stood up and felt around for the button on Roy’s shorts, yanking it open and dragging the garment to the ground in seconds. “I’ll show you what you’re messing with. That what you want?”

Shameful in his enthusiasm, Roy breathed out a “Yes” before he could even remember to be angry.

Ollie certainly hadn’t forgotten, because the agreement only seemed to drive him wilder. The hand between Roy’s shoulder blades became an elbow, and before he could think to murmur the location of his lubricant, he was exposed to the air and penetrated, just a finger but startling nonetheless without warning.

And still, a moan fell desperately. He wanted to antagonize some more, just so the cacophony of emotions boiling to the surface would have an outlet, but everything he could conceive of saying kept falling victim to his gasps and shudders.

Another finger pressed into him dry, too much of a stretch. Yet, he was panting against the hood, his own fingers curling and uncurling where they’d fallen free to plant in front of him. They left smudges on the metal, but all he could focus on was the coolness against his cheek and the burn of Ollie forcing him open.

“’M supposed to take the money up front,” he managed, finally. A herculean effort to speak without stammering, much less to eke out a joke in the face of all this rage. Strangely, Roy felt far from in danger. Instead he was alive with the focus of Ollie’s attention.

A hand came down on his ass with a loud crack, and before he could even register that he could stand straight now, that hand was back, curling in his hair and wrenching his head back while two fingers spread him open brutally quickly.

“I can’t believe you, sitting here acting like you’re a...”

“Like a what?” Roy panted, voice strained from the angle and the breaths heaved in between syllables. “Say it.”

Ollie quirked his fingertips against Roy’s prostate and rubbed hard enough to make spots dance in his vision. Plain and clear in that proper tone of his, he said, “A _whore._”

Considering the location in which he’d been found and the state of his body, burning up from the inside with his hard cock pressed against the side of a random car, Roy felt as if the moniker was appropriate. The shame lit through him alongside a curious sense of arousal, and his back arched obscenely at the loss of Ollie’s fingers as if to encourage more degradation.

“No ward of mine is going to be an improper mess,” Ollie went on, as if he weren’t fishing the travel bottle out of the shorts on the ground and moving around with his hand still firmly in Roy’s hair.

Roy couldn’t see, but he could hear the clank of a utility belt and the thin cloth belt beneath coming off and hitting the asphalt. He realized with another white-hot thrill down to his toes that Ollie wasn’t going to bother preparing him more than that. When his head was pressed back down, his breath came in puffs across the car’s paint, a testament to the excitement that quickened his pulse. Like a _whore, whore, whore,_ he thought, the word like lights behind his eyelids when he closed them, letting himself feel without the threat of the very public alley being the backdrop.

The hand that had been in his hair suddenly fisted around his cock, and he whined shamefully, bucking his hips forward toward the pressure, only for it to loosen when he got right where he wanted to be.

“This is a punishment, not a reward, Roy.”

The way Ollie said his name made him shudder again, especially when the man lifted one of his legs by the thigh and held him there as he pushed his cock inside, splitting him open until he was gasping with the pressure. Even with the lube Ollie had at least deigned to use, the angle and lack of prep made it burn just the barest bit. Roy still loved it so much he couldn’t stop the filthy begging for more that tumbled out of him like a prayer, or some desperate plea that went far beyond begging for sex. It was also for something of which even he wasn’t quite sure. Forgiveness? An apology from Oliver? Maybe for a home again, in the form of a house, or in the form of a person.

All that mattered to him now was how Ollie spoke to him, demeaning and disappointed. Everything Roy both craved and feared as the man’s cock carved through him, each thrust hard enough to make his raised foot bob. A strong arm wrapped around his midsection, holding him back against the larger body behind him as he was fucked standing, like he didn’t even deserve the stability of the car to hold him while he shook and panted and moaned.

“You oughta be ashamed, son,” Ollie said. Roy bit his own lip until it bled and threw his head back against the man’s shoulder. “I don’t want this kind of life for you, y’know. It boils my blood that you’re this type of person.”

“Says the man—” he paused to groan, arching away when the tip of Ollie’s cock dragged against the perfect spot, only to purposefully thrust deeper after the fact— “whose idea of punishment is to fuck someone to within an inch of their life.”

Like a charm, the prodding worked, and Ollie’s next attempt at teaching him a lesson was to reach up and pinch at his chest, one nipple then the other, hard enough to drag a whine from Roy with each rough twist. “I want you to rememberthis,” he said, reasoning it out in such a familiar fashion that Roy had to laugh, breathless though it might have been. “Maybe a little pain will sober you up.”

Roy hadn’t thought about drugs once during this entire debacle, and the fact of it thrummed in his blood like a concert drumbeat, forcing him higher and higher until he felt lightheaded with the sheer energy. He knew the moment he was dropped to the ground after this he’d be on fire in all the bad ways: A shivering wreck in the first bitter stages of withdrawal. But he couldn’t live in the future when the present was so damn pleasurable.

Ollie kept thumbing at his nipples, letting him relax just a moment before he pinched with nails this time, earning a desperate keen and a flex of Roy’s hips that got him leaking pre-cum all over the stranger’s car in a steady stream of damnation.

“You’re enjoying yourself too much,” Ollie said, mouth suddenly so close to his ear that Roy had to fight down a tremor. Despite this, despite everything, the man still managed to have an edge of fondness to his voice that made Roy’s legs shake.

To make up for the loss of heat, Roy bared his teeth, even if Ollie couldn’t see it, and snapped, “You’re a real piece of work! Bet you get off on your sense of moral superiority!”

“At least I’m not a lousy addict,” Ollie hissed in return, shortly before bending Roy back over the hood and aiming brutal thrusts directly against his prostate, each one striking Roy to the core with a sensation so good it ached.

The scream that fought its way out when Ollie grabbed his cock and stroked with proper pressure this time was the final nail in his coffin, because all the shame dawned on him at once when he came, staining the tires, the pavement, and the shorts that had been dropped to his ankles. Now he’d have to walk around in his mess, he thought with a wince.

Ollie didn’t stop stroking, nor did he change his angle, and within seconds Roy was pressing his fingertips to the metal so hard they turned white. Every breath was labored just to keep the frantic whimpers at bay. The touches were too much, from the palm swirling around the wet mess dripping from the head of his cock to the merciless jabbing inside him, until he was dangerously close to tears.

It was awful and glorious in unison, and no amount of twisting or trying to get away could stop the man from shoving in deep and coming undone himself, leaving Roy to peer down the curve of the hood and find the humiliating image of the spilled seed dripping messily down his thighs. His legs trembled so viciously that the hand on his hip and the aid of the vehicle were certainly the only things holding him upright.

“Get up,” Ollie demanded, sounding, by all rights, as if he’d been through a battle. “I’m taking you to Dinah.”

Roy barely heard the words past his own heartbeat, least of all when he had to stagger to his feet and pull his shorts back on. The length of them did absolutely no good when it came to covering the streaks of cum down his legs, nor the wet spot that bloomed on the front. Whatever Oliver’s plan had been, Roy wouldn’t have guessed that wrecking his barely-legal ward and then dragging him to his girlfriend’s house soiled and used would be part of it.

It worked, he supposed. Nothing from before compared to the ugly sting of knowing Dinah would have to see him like this, filthy and in the beginning shakes of withdrawal. With a snarl directed at a far-too-smug Ollie, he replied, “Next time you see me, I’ll be right as rain, and then what’re you gonna do? I’ll have you eating every word you said to me tonight.”

Ollie, damn the bastard, snorted. “That’s exactly what I’m hoping for.”


End file.
